


The Real Boy

by BrochaninWords



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Clone Wars (2003) - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: 99 needs a hug, Angst with a Happy Ending, Clones, Gen, Kamino, Medical Experimentation, Origin Story, Sad, Science Experiments, characters need a hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-06-22 14:03:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15583551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrochaninWords/pseuds/BrochaninWords
Summary: Ice covers my skin when I wake up, conscious of body, my mind, and what could possibly be fake reality, for the fifth time in my life. I know they’ve downloaded everything into my mind that I’m supposed to know, though I’m not sure how I know that. I just know things that I’ve never learned, never felt, tasted, heard, thought…





	The Real Boy

It hasn’t always been cold, has it? Thing is, I’m not sure anymore. It seems like I’ve been freezing forever. It feels like life isn’t real, like maybe, just maybe, we’re all living inside of a simulation, and death is only whoever’s pulling our strings ending the game. That sounds about right, I think. Ice covers my skin when I wake up, and I'm conscious of body, my mind, what could possibly be fake reality, for the fifth time in my life. I know they’ve downloaded everything into my mind that I’m supposed to know, though I’m not sure _how_ I know that. I just know things that I’ve never learned, never felt, tasted, heard, thought…  
A simulated mind in a real galaxy, I realize. Faked, built, experiment, not human. Not even the End Game. A failed attempt—I know I am, I can feel it, like they’ve downloaded that into my mind, too, wanting me to know just how unreal I really am. How unimportant my life is, because I’m an experiment, and a failed one at that.  
I’m not sure why that thought sends me to the brink of agony, then shoots me into the stars—wouldn’t that be beautiful, to become a star, to burn in the middle of a frozen tundra and to know you’re worth something, to someone. Even if it’s just a pretty thing to look at.  
I know I’m not that, however.  
I can tell from what the long-necks are saying about me right now.  
“This unit is deformed, Nata Lei. It would be kinder, and best, to euthanize it.”  
My stomach clenches, flips, soars, twists—I know it’s a wrong reaction. Bad. I know I’m not supposed to feel such strong emotion about myself, or my life, because I’m not a person, I’m a unit, a project, a… a… an experiment, meant to be a stepping stone to the end results. The End Game.  
“It may be useful still—we can sample its DNA, to analyze where we went wrong in the coding.”  
“Yes. I will make the arrangements…”  
I open my eyes just in time to watch the Kaminoan push a line of anesthesia into my IV, and then the world shakes, as if the universe is heaving a wary sigh, before I don’t remember anything.  
*******  
Blink. Breathe. Whoosh, beep, murmur, clink, beep-beep-beep.  
I open my eyes to a white room. I can’t feel anything below my neck, which isn’t alarming, just… normal. I wonder how many days old I am now. I have to believe it’s only been a few weeks. Turning my head—my neck feels stiff and rigid, and I want this to stop, I know from Jango’s information that it isn’t normal, that I’m in pain—I look at the medical droid. It doesn’t seem to notice.  
My gaze falls to the table, and I stare. I’m confused, and resigned. There, on the silver surface, is a stream of red, and I can’t help but think that it’s pretty, as it sparkles in the artificial lights. It’s cascading in trickles down to the floor, and dripping onto a growing puddle.  
Drip. Drip. Drip.  
I can hear it. My heart jolts.  
It’s mine. Happiness floods through my chest—I have a body, because I have blood, I have my own body that I can move and maybe someday, feel, and walk with, and talk with. This is the first time I know I’m not trapped inside of my own mind. This is the first time it really strikes me that I’m _more_ than a brain, and maybe it’s the continual flow of drugs, but it doesn’t stop me from thinking about feeling rain against *my* skin, and grass under _my_ feet, the kind of things I Know without Feeling. Without Doing.  
Not a machine.  
P—person.  
*******  
I do make it outside, three weeks later. Everything kriffing _aches_ , it’s nearly _impossible_ for me to move… Even lifting my hand, which I Know should be a simple task, feels like a thousand pounds.  
I’m shaking with fear and anticipation when I’m wheeled through the open doors, followed by two long-necks who watch me curiously, wanting to see how their creation reacts. They don’t care, I’m sure, but for some reason, it makes me feel… a little less alone. I haven’t met anyone else yet.  
The clouds. The ocean. The curve of the planet that stretches in front of me.  
I watch as a wave crashes against a distant landing platform column, green and blue splashing into a thick, frothy white. I watch the green seaweed waving beneath the dock. There are clouds in the sky, and they look bloated and grey, water-pregnant is a good phrase, I think, but maybe this is just what they call a _storm._  
I’m wheeled to the edge, and my thin, young hands touch the railing. My heart is hammering in my chest, and its beating into my throat, making it hard to breathe. Every breath is a shard of ice behind my ribs.  
With far too much effort, I set one foot on the ground—it’s solid and cold—then the other, and breathe, breathe, disorderly thoughts rushing across my usually overactive mind. My thoughts seem very quiet now, though, compared to the roaring below and the thunder in my ears from the coursing blood.  
Shaking, I tell myself that *I can do it, I can do it*, and I can, I know that I can because I’m a person and people can stand, so… I do. Shaking. Shaking so hard I think I might snap my femurs in half, but it fills me with a sense of pride, and accomplishment, that cause my throat to swell even more. I cry out when my back seizes with pain, and a stabbing sensation works its way through my spine, but I’m not going to sit down now—there’s no way in _hell_ I’m doing that.  
Something wet splashes my cheek.  
Water.  
Rain.  
More drops follow, like blood dripping from the operation table—that was my own connection, from my own experience, my very first real connection…  
A loud, thick sound _tears_ out of my chest. Once the first comes, I physically can’t stop the others from following.  
I weep, like I’m real.  
“Ninety-Nine, it’s time to meet the other units.”  
I’m struck with a profound sense of _longing_ , and it rips me to pieces, then puts me back together in such a fragile state I think I could shatter beyond repair if something goes wrong. Other units. Not alone. Not euthanized.  
Brothers.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank y'all for reading and what-have-youUuuuu!! I hope you enjoyed. I've been wanting to write something like this for a long while now. And I never write in first person, as a side note, nor do I write in present-tense... So that was new. I like how it turned ouuuutt!
> 
> Love and hugsss!


End file.
